


Firewhiskey

by hopeforrain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeforrain/pseuds/hopeforrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Dean had a little too much to drink</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firewhiskey

“Rough day at work?” Seamus walked into the kitchen to see his best friend, who didn’t normally drink, pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey.

“No, I’ve hit a creative block. I want to paint, and my mind is failing me. Hoping that maybe a bit of alcohol will help.” Dean took a gulp of his drink and grimaced.

“Well, drinking alone is no fun. I guess I’ll have to join you.” Seamus grinned and grabbed the bottle from Dean. “So, work’s fine?”

“Pretty slow day today. I did a sketch of a suspect for a break-in down in Barnes. Filed some paperwork. The criminals in muggle London aren’t feeling active right now, I guess. How’s the hospital?”

“Mrs. Foster’s dragon pox is getting better. Little boy was brought in this morning. They don’t know what he has. There’s a muggle down in Artifact Accidents. I didn’t hear what he was there for, but it’s always interesting when a muggle gets brought in.” Seamus downed his glass of firewhiskey and poured himself another one.

Dean smiled slightly at his friend. “You do know that I’m going to go back to painting in a few minutes, and you’re going to lose your drinking partner?”

“What kind of lousy best mate are you?” Seamus scowled, seeming to forget that Dean was the one who needed a drinking buddy in the first place, not him. Dean looked vaguely apologetic, but held with his plan for a quiet evening with his art. “Fine. I’ll just go down to the pub by myself and drink an awful lot and come back here with a really hot guy, and then you’ll regret not coming with me.”

“Go. Drink. Have fun. I’ll be here, waiting to help with that terrible hangover you’re going to have in the morning.” Dean walked back to his easel with the bottle of firewhiskey as Seamus bounced out the door of their flat.

Hours later, Seamus came back through the door, without another man clutching his hand. Most of his time at the pub had been spent chatting and buying other people drinks, so he was surprisingly sober. His flatmate, on the other hand, was not. Clearly the painting plan had been abandoned after a few splashes of blue on a canvas, because Dean was lying on the floor with an empty bottle of firewhiskey next to him and a half empty one in his hand.

“Seamus!” he called indistinctly on hearing his friend. He attempted to get to his feet, but quickly gave up in favor of taking another swallow of his drink. “I thought you were bringing a boy home,” he said, his words slurring together.

Seamus went to pick his friend up and carry him to his bedroom. “No, I decided to come take care of my idiot best friend instead.”

Dean didn’t seem to process the ‘idiot’ part of that statement, and said, “Good. I don’t like it when you bring boys home.”

This surprised Seamus. Dean had never expressed a problem with Seamus’ boyfriends and one night stands before. “Really?” he asked absently, half dragging and half carrying Dean down the hall. “You jealous of the fact that I can get a date and you can’t?”

“I like you. Like, _like_ like you. I want you to bring me home. But we live together…” Dean frowned. “So you bringing me home would be like me bringing me home… Which is not what I’m talking about.”

Dean’s first statement had hit Seamus like a blow to the stomach. Dean liked him? That didn’t make sense. It must just be the alcohol talking. Nevertheless, he made a resolution to ask Dean about it once he’d sobered up. He ignored the rest of Dean’s drunk ramblings as he got him a glass of water and pushed him into bed. “Shut up and go to sleep, you idiot,” he said over Dean’s mumbled nonsense, leaving his friend’s room to try to get some sleep himself.

Dean stumbled out of his room late the next morning with a pounding headache and a mouth like cotton. He staggered towards the kitchen with his eyes half closed and soon noticed the incredible smell of bacon. Was Seamus cooking? He entered the kitchen to see that Seamus was in fact cooking breakfast and (shockingly) not burning anything.

“Good morning, sleepy head! Eggs, bacon, coffee, and a potion for that terrible headache you’ve probably got, all ready for you.”

“Seamus, you’re the best,” Dean croaked, sitting down to eat. Halfway through his bacon, he noticed Seamus looking at him strangely. Feeling a little less dead with some medicine and caffeine in his system, he decided to face last night. “Okay. What did I do?”

“Well…” Seamus hesitated. “It’s not anything you did. It’s something you said. You said… You said you liked me. _Like_ liked me.”

_Oh shit._ “Seamus, I was drunk, and I shouldn’t have said that, and I-”

“Did you mean it?” Seamus’ expression was unreadable.

“I shouldn’t have told you like that. I should have known I was saying it. But, yeah, I guess I meant it. I’m sorry. Please don’t let this mess anything up. I know you don’t feel the same, and you can keep bringing guys by, and I won’t have a problem, and - what?” Seamus was grinning at him, which was pretty much the opposite of the reaction Dean was expecting. Then, Seamus leaned across the table towards Dean. Their lips pressed together, and Dean pulled back quickly in shock.

“Oh, come on,” Seamus said. “Is that all I’m going to get? You confessed your love for me, I made you breakfast, and I get one little peck?” Dean smiled, walked around the table to where Seamus was sitting, and knelt on the floor so they were at the same height. Dean put his hand on the back of Seamus’ neck and brought him close for another longer kiss. Seamus eventually pulled away to say, “You should get hammered more often, if this is what we get from it.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’re going to need alcohol to do this in the future,” Dean said, leaning in again.

**Author's Note:**

> The comments on their jobs at the beginning come from personal head canons of mine. I picture Dean working as a sketch artist for the muggle police and Seamus as a nurse at St. Mungo's. Just personal thoughts of mine.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!


End file.
